


Ghosts

by cinnamorose



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Implied homophobia, M/M, Right?, actually decently based on her, hes just. hes just based on her design, i didnt mean to kill him or make it sad??, im like really sorry, im not even pretending i looked at her and went "yea lets make him look like that", im not gonna pretend, im so sorry?, masato's dad sux, ok back to the Spirit hes actually fully based on her, right right yea, same area, tbh its closer to "Graphic Depictions of a Corpse" but, uh oh, vaguely and loosely based on The Spirit from Dead by Daylight, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-01 18:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamorose/pseuds/cinnamorose
Summary: Otoya Ittoki doesn't believe in ghosts.He remembers how they met in October. The leaves were falling in so many beautiful colours.He remembers the news announcing Masato's death. How he was found in the river.He remembers wishing to see him again when he's older.He remembers the way Masato smelled. Clean, sweet, and soft, like snow.He doesn't remember this. Glowing eyes, glass, he doesn't remember it.Otoya Ittoki doesn't believe in ghosts.





	Ghosts

October. Otoya was hopelessly, painfully lost. Leaves fell, their reds the same shade of his hair, orange ones following, before yellow tumbles as well. The older ones crunch under his foot. Staring around, he spots a head of blue hair. Oh, isn't he a classmate...?

"Ah..." Before he realises it, he's made a sound. Ah, dang.

The man turns around, looking back at him curiously with those gorgeous violet eyes of his. Otoya can't help but become entranced by them every time they look at one another. The ever most dexterous pianist, Masato Hijirikawa. "Oh. You're... Ittoki, correct?" The man calls.

Otoya beams. They don't talk too often, so it's nice that he remembered! "Yeah! I'm glad to see you, Masa!" "Are you lost? You can come walk with me if you are. We have the same class, after all."

Otoya grins at his words, running over and sliding a hand into the other man's. "Please! I can show you where I need to- Huh? What's with that look?" He asks. Those violet eyes have widened. Now that he's closer, he actually notices the little mark underneath his eye. Ah, it looks nice.

"A-Ah, don't... Don't worry, alright?" Masato says, chuckling with a forming smile. "Where did you need to go, Ittoki?"

"Class! Remember?"

Masato's face heats with embarrassment as he quickly looks away. Otoya could never admit that he found the man so, so adorable sometimes.

* * *

Time passed, so much time. The golden band around his finger reminded him of all the good in life. Kisses and questions. Dances and dates. Songs and smiles. Slowly, they became close, closer than anyone else in the band.

Backstage, they'd quickly give each other kisses before they perform. At home, Masato would be much more playful and pranking, laughing and smiling so happily that Otoya has to stop and stare and watch the man giggle. The way his eyes squeeze shut when he laughs is something precious, oh so precious.

Otoya getting to snuggle into him, Masato quickly growing accustomed to him being in his side. It was hard to not call himself by his legal surname, having to stay as Otoya Ittoki on the stage and at work.

Softly humming, he turns his hand, looking over it. Sadness fills his eyes. Their apartment is... Somewhat lonely, with him gone now. Very lonely, actually. Right now, if it weren't for the television, it'd be completely silent. "Hmm..."

"... Masato Hijirikawa has been found dead..." Otoya's head snaps up quickly, his eyes widening completely. What? _What?_

He was just supposed to go to his father's. Just to tell him the good news of their marriage. Not end up killed.

His father loved them. Masato said he was proud of their accomplishments, even prouder his son fell in love. This can't happen. This can't be right. Otoya feels dizzy. He feels sick. Mr. Hijirikawa supported them. Right? Right...?

Slowly he stood, eyes fixated on the television as he picks up his phone. Dead. In a river. Near the Hijirikawa estate.

He can't be. He can't be! He could barely breathe. His phone vibrated in his hands and he looked down, answering the call to his concerned friends.

* * *

Otoya doesn't believe in ghosts.

He hoped and wished for Masato to return within the entire year until now, forcing everything all down deep into himself like what happened with his aunt. The blame. The tears. Forcing a smile back onto his face. STARISH didn't feel like STARISH to the fans without Masato. Everyone spoke about it. Otoya avoided it whenever it came up.

He doesn't believe in ghosts.

Coming home was too empty too often, too open. He'd start sobbing when it all was too much, especially at first. Questions about his close friend. Tears. Questions about everything. Tears. Choking them back at interviews, choking on them at home.

He has to be dreaming.

Every now and then, he'd check behind him as he went about. Someone was following him. Someone *had* to be following him. And with that in mind, he devised a plan. Keeping himself up at night later.

Now, that part wasn't so easy for a bit. He'd always find himself passed out, sometimes making sure he wasn't under the blankets to test if he'd be under them in the morning, like a parent might do to a young child. And in fact, he was, every time. He'd wake up with a frigid cheek, tucked comfortably, surprisingly... Comfortable?

It's not real.

This time, he stayed up. Physically up, on his feet. He'd catch this creeper somehow. Walking through the dark house, he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a cup and getting himself some water. When he set down the pitcher, he heard it. The back door opening. He spun around, spilling a little water on the floor in the process, and stared.

By the light of the moon and... Something else, somewhere, somehow, he saw the silhouette of someone enter. They took a few steps, stopped, then slowly turned. As Otoya watched, he felt his stomach flip.

Cuts through the body. Glass in the body. Eyes glowing. Those clothes look awfully familiar. That hair looks familiar. By the light of... His, he's assuming, eyes, that mark under the eye looks familiar. One shoulder is out of place by dislocation, but he still can move his arm without any difficulty. He shouldn't be moving it at all. His eyes go to his legs and he swallows hard. One is cut clean through. The other has a slice in it, probably from whatever went through the other one. His side has a deep hole. Even though they're no longer bleeding, he can see the old blood they had in the past. Otoya sways on his feet some. It's making him dizzy. Bits of the man are chopped up and floating _on their own_, detached yet fully functional. He can't be standing, it's impossible that way, _impossible_. There's something around one finger, shiny, but that's as much attention he gives it.

The man takes a step forwards and Otoya flinches hard. Slowly he keeps stepping closer. Otoya moves to step back a few steps when he gets close, too close. He smells rotting, terrible. Water on his foot makes Otoya slide back some, his other foot stumbling and trying to steady him.

It didn't work. The sound of him falling right on his ass was _loud_, painful. His cup is now emptied all over his front. Ugh, fuck. Suddenly, he lifts his head, his neck hurting at how sharply he jerked.

He stood over him at a reasonable distance, his body occasionally twitching and contorting. The glow of his eyes was a familiar violet. Gentle like a baby animal. Even when scratched and cut up and sliced all to hell, his skin looked so pretty and his hands still were beautiful and his fingers were long and thin, a band matching Otoya's around his finger as well. That mark of his somehow... Somehow, looked kissable still.

He wanted to scream, to yell at this terrible monster of a person that their joke isnt funny. He wants to get up and rip off their stupid wig, tell them to get out. Or, even better, call the police. This isn't Masato, his Masato. His Masato smelled sweet and clean, if a little fancy. Like a wedding in winter. They had their wedding in winter. It snowed when they got home, they stayed in and had hot chocolate with marshmallows, watching movies and- _Focus!_ Otoya tenses his jaw.

Those glowing eyes soften slowly as he watches Otoya, slowly kneeling in front of him. Only now does he realise he's crying, and suddenly... He _breaks_.

Otoya chokes and sobs, his breath coming in hard gasps as his hands shake, grabbing at his arms in a tight, tight hug. His knees lift to his chest. He wanted to feel small, he feels too large and it feels like he's trapped, contained, choking. It's so much, it's so fucking _bad_ and he _hates_ it. He gasps hard and digs his fingers into his arms. He's chewed away his nails anyways.

"O... Toya..." A whisper, but also at regular volume, and like he's not even talking so much as moaning in pain. He probably _is _in pain. Otoya sobs hard and curls up more. Dammit. Dammit! He looks like Masato, _sounds _like Masato, but he's dead! He's been dead for a year. He didn't even realise he was beginning to sob the man's name desperately, begging for his return yet again. He slowly felt cold arms wrap around him, hugging him close and pressing kisses to his hair and temple. So soft. So cold. Just like snow.

Otoya leans into him. He's probably got tiny scratches on himself too now from all that glass, but he can't find it in himself to care. Stuffing his face into Masa- into 'Masato's' chest, Otoya sobs, shaking and holding onto him tightly. Letting everything out. How much he misses him, how he wants him to come back, how he's sorry, so so sorry. Masato rocks him slowly, stroking his hair and back in just the way he loves it, kissing at his hair and singing their special song softly. After he broke, it's... Hard to stay awake.

"... Is it you?" He asks weakly, his hands holding onto his sliced up shirt tightly. Masato nods, kissing his head. "... But you died." Masato nods again, petting his hair.

Otoya's eyes look over the painful injuries of his, slowly up to Masato's face. He leans up, weakly kissing his beauty mark. Masato's eyes slowly flutter.

"... Bedtime for you, isn't it?" Masato asks, wiping at Otoya's eyes. He's certainly tired, with it being so late and him crying like that. "Come... Let's get you to bed..." Slowly, he moves to pull him up. Maybe he'll remove that glass, to carry his husband properly in the future.

Slowly leading him to the bedroom, Masato whispers into his ear the sweetest and softest things. He knows Otoya likely isn't listening, swaying as he moves. Into the bedroom, Masato lays Otoya down under the blankets, tucking him in the way he loves after he's cried, kissing his hair and petting him as he reads to him until he falls asleep. Almost like before, Otoya thinks lazily as he starts drifting off. He's probably not real, but that's not to fear.

Otoya Ittoki doesn't believe in ghosts. But he feels inclined to this time.

**Author's Note:**

> hhH this was pure accident, completely accidental, and im sorry it happened. Masato im so sorry hon. u deserve better. this is my second story plot where i kill u im so?? sorry


End file.
